


Now Hiring

by KellCavs



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Im really sorry about that, Implied Nazis, Mental Institutions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prison, Shitty depictions of 1960s mental institutions, im not that sorry, it's sometimes easier than she excpects, miss pauling expects her job to be a lot harder when it comes to hiring 9 men, think about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:03:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9836807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellCavs/pseuds/KellCavs
Summary: Miss Pauling is good at her job. Damn good. She's sent to hire 9 mercenaries - and she will get 9 mercenaries.





	1. Meet the Soldier

Chapter One – The Soldier

 

“Doe!” a loud, booming voice boomed from the crackling loudspeaker, “My office! NOW!”

                “Yes, sir!” the man named Doe shouted back. He offered a salute to the new recruits before ordering them to keep as still as humanly possible. They were not to wink, blink, breathe, or move until he returned. They all shouted out their respective “yes, sir!” responses as Doe went to the office.

                Instead of being greeted by his commanding officer, Doe was instead greeted by a young woman with jet black hair and a very large gun. She was sitting on the desk, her legs crossed and her eyes (and gun) trained on him.

                “Hello, civilian!” Doe said, saluting the woman.

                “Close the door, Jane,” she said. Her voice was calm. Too calm. It unnerved him.

                He shut the door.

                She got off the desk and crossed the room to him, never taking the gun off of him.

                Jane suddenly realized this woman was not to be trifled with. One false move and he could be painted all over the walls.

                “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to a chair.

                He sat down and removed his hat.

                The woman was now in front of him, her deep purple skirt at his eye level. Her hands were on her hips and she did not look happy. At least she didn’t have the gun pointed at him anymore.

                “Can I help you, miss?” he asked, testing the waters.

                “Actually,” she said, her demeanor now entirely changed, “You can.”

                “Are you looking for somebody, miss?”

                “Yes, I am.”

                “May I ask who?’

                “You.”

                Well, that changes things a bit.

                “Mr. Doe,” the woman said, leaning back on the desk, “I represent a company that has had their eyes on you for a very long time.”

                “How long?”

                “The end of the war.”

                “I see… What were you looking for?”

                “A man with a certain skill type,” she said, “One who’s good with moral and keeping spirits up among his regime. And guns. Big guns.”

                Well, that fit Doe exceptionally well. He was interested now.

                “Miss, uh,” he said, “That’s an interesting proposition… Can I ask why?”

                The woman pushed herself off the desk and moved to the other side to open a folder.

                “It’s Pauling,” she said, not looking up at him as she rooted around in the file.

                “What?” he asked.

                “My name. You may refer to me as Miss Pauling.”

                “Alright, Miss Pauling,” he said, “Who the hell is this company you work for?”

                “I’m not at liberty to say,” she said, looking up briefly, “Not now, anyway. Once you accept the job, you will be properly informed.”

                “How the hell can I accept a job that I know nothing about?” Doe was getting upset now, a vein throbbing in his neck.

                Miss Pauling remained calm. She looked back up at him with icy eyes and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her thin nose.

                “You were injured in the war, yes?”

                “Yes?”

                “And you’ve been a drill instructor here for almost fifteen years, yes?”

                “Yes.”

                “ _And_ you always beg your commanding officer to let you do more, correct?”

                “Yes, ma’am.”

                “If you accept my offer, I promise you right now, you can do as much fighting as you could ever hope for. I can see to it personally that you will be in the best shape of your life.”

                Boy, did that sounded mighty convincing.

                “Miss Pauling, may I have a few days to think about it?”

                “You may. Good bye, Mr. Doe.”

                The black-haired woman collected her files and her bag (and the large gun) and went to exit the room.

                “Wait,” he said, getting up from the chair, “How will I contact you when I’ve made my decision?”

                “I will know,” she said, grimly. Then she offered a kind smile. “Have a nice day!”

                Miss Pauling shut the door and left him alone.

                Jane exited the room, more confused as ever. But there was also something in the air that made his heart race. Excitement. He hadn’t been excited for something in almost twenty years.

                “Alright, maggots!” Jane shouted as he went over to where the new recruits stood, as statuesque as ever, “Twenty-seven laps around the base! Go, go, go!”

                The men took off running.

                 ***

                Three days later, Jane was sitting in the small diner just outside the base. He was getting his morning cup of coffee and reading the morning paper, as usual. The waitress brought over a plate of eggs and bacon and smile warmly at him.

                “I didn’t order this, Maude,” he said, looking confused.

                “Compliments of the woman in the booth in the back,” Maude said. She patted Jane on the shoulder and refilled his coffee and carried on to the next booth.

                Jane looked up, and sure enough, the woman from a few days ago was staring at him from over the lip of her coffee cup. She set it down and dropped a bill on the table and came over to him.

                She slid into the booth across from him and pulled out her briefcase.

                “Mr. Doe,” she said, taking out a stack of papers and a pen, “I trust you’ve made your decision?”

                “I think I have, Miss.”

                “Wonderful!” she said with a smile, “Then we can get right down to work! What a relief! Here I thought I was going to have to do a whole lot of convincing and begging! Your file said you might be belligerent!”

                “I’m sorry?” Jane asked, looking confused.

                “Oh, nothing, nothing! Never mind!”

                Miss Pauling droned on for a while before handing him the pen.

                “Sign here, here, here,” Miss Pauling flipped a page, “Here, here,” another page flip, “Here,” another page, “Birthday here, and initial there…” one more page flip, “And sign and print here.”

                In the back of his head, Jane wondered if he should have paid attention to her. It was all happening so fast.

                “Can I ask a few questions?” he asked.

                “Of course,” she said, flipping to the next page when he was finished signing.

                “What about my job? My men?”

                “Reassigned this morning,” she said without skipping a beat, “Your men are in transit to Louisiana as we speak.”

                “And my job?”

                “There will be a horrible explosion in your base later today,” she said, “You will die in the blast, legally. A missing persons case. No real deaths, of course, but you will be unaccounted for and later assumed dead.”

                Jane’s heart jumped to his throat.

                “I’m sorry?” he asked, his pen slipping a bit.

                “With this line of work,” she said coolly, “It’s always best not to leave too many doors open. “Should you ever choose to quit, you’d be given an entirely new name. In a few hours, Jane Doe will be legally dead.”

                This job was sounding shadier and shadier by the second. Had Jane made a mistake?

                “There’s no need to worry, Mr. Doe,” she said, “I promise you this, you will be safe. You’ll be paid handsomely and given a safe place to sleep at night. What do you say… soldier?”

                She offered her thin hand to him to shake.

                Doe smiled. He hadn’t been called that in almost two decades.

                “Of course, Miss Pauling!” he said, grinning from ear to ear. He shook her hand, her whole arm bouncing with his excitement.

                “Good. Now go and quickly pack your belongings. Be at the train station no later than 1200 hours. Leave this restaurant and speak to no one. I was never here.”

                “Yes, ma’am.”

                Jane got up and paid and left the diner without another word. As he was walking back to the base, he saw a sleek black car drive past him. That car was way too nice to belong to anyone in this backwater town… Must’ve belonged to that Miss Pauling lady.

                ***

                At five minutes till the designated time, Jane was sitting in the train station, his bag in his hands. He looked all over for the young woman in the nice purple suit, but didn’t see her. Maybe she left him here.

                A newspaper rustled behind him and a woman coughed.

                “Mr. Doe,” she said, “Are you ready?”

                He got up off the bench and turned. Miss Pauling stood there, a suitcase at her side and that sleek briefcase in hand.

                “Yes, ma’am.”

                “Then come along, Soldier.”


	2. Meet the Enginer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling hires the Engineer

Chapter Two – Meet the Engineer

 

                “Excuse me!” a woman in a deep purple suit cried over the awful din of heavy machinery. “Excuse me!”

                None of the men in the room paid any attention to her.

                “Excuse me!” she shouted, a bit louder.

                One man in overalls strutted over to her. He was presumably the superintendent of the site, given the hideous vest he was wearing.

                “What can I help you with, sweetheart? Are you looking for your husband?” he asked in a condescending tone.

                “I beg your pardon?”

                “You looking for you husband? The ladies that show up here are usually looking for their husband.”

                “I’m not looking for my husband,” she said, sounding a bit irritated, “And I’d ask you not to assume, thank you very much.”

                “No need to be rude,” he grumbled. He spat off to the side and put his hands in his tool belt.

                “I am looking for someone, though,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “I’m looking for a Mr. Conagher.”

                “Yeah, I’ll get him. Stay right here though. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt, little lady.”

                Miss Pauling fought the sudden and incredible urge to shoot the man.

                “Dell!” the man shouted as he walked away, “Hey! Dell, there’s a lady here to see you.”

                A muffled conversation was heard over the noise and soon the superintendent returned with a much shorter, stockier man in tow.

                “Mr. Conagher,” she said with a fond smile, “May I have a word in private?”

                “Of course, miss,” he said, tipping his hardhat in greeting.

                He led her down a hallway, waving off the wolf whistles of his coworkers.

                “Welcome to my office,” he said with a soft chuckle. He pushed open a door that read “Engineering” in block letters and invited her inside.

                “Now, what can I do for ya, miss?” he asked. He went to the small fridge in the corner and pulled out two bottles of Coca-Cola and offered on to her, which she declined but thanked him for.

                “I trust you know who I am?” she asked, smoothing down her skirt as she sat in the chair he offered her.

                “No, ma’am, I can’t say I don’t.”

                “Did your father ever mention the Mann Company to you?”

                Dell brought the bottle to his lips to take a drink, but paused.

                “Did you say Mann?”

                “I did. I take it you’ve heard of us then?”

                “I have, but… What do ya want me for? My dad’s… I haven’t seen him in years. Did something happen?”

                “Not at all, Mr. Conagher, I actually have a job proposition for you.”

                “Do you now?”

                “Yes,” she said, “Your father once mentioned to… my superior that he had a son with an incredible intellect. I assume he meant you.”

                Dell blushed. “Thank you kindly, miss.”

                “Since you are at least somewhat familiar with what your father did, I don’t feel the need to bore you with the details, but I will if you ask nicely.”

                “I’m alright, ma’am.”

                “Excellent,” she said, “Now what do you say? If you accept, I can have you on the next flight out of here and have you getting paid double, even triple of what your current salary is.”

                “Miss---“

                “Pauling,” she said, already knowing what he was going to ask.

                “Miss Pauling,” he said, “Can I ask you a little something before I agree to all this?”

                “Anything,” she said, crossing her legs.

                “Why not my father?”

                “Mann Co., as well as my superior made arrangements for an entirely new team to be assembled. The other members of our company are growing much older and we fear we cannot sustain them much longer should something catastrophic happen.”

                Dell removed his hat and scratched the top of his head before replacing it. “So y’all’er just gonna round up me and a bunch of new fellas and send’em to do what my father did?”

                “That’s the plan, yes.”

                “Well, Miss Pauling,” he said, huffing a bit, “I don’t really see why I’d say no. I’m also thinkin’ I’m not in much of a position to be sayin’ no.”

                “You have every right to say no,” she said, “A man with your level of intelligence is bound to find an astounding job at a university somewhere soon. Why would you want to settle for the job I'm offering to you?”

                “Now I wouldn’t say that,” he said, trying to stay humble.

                “Eleven PhDs, Mr. Conagher.” she said, the corner of her lip turning up in the faintest hint of a smile. She cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

                Dell laughed, his eyes sparkling from under his safety goggles.

                “That was more of a statement than a question, I’m assumin’?” he chuckled.

                “Correct,” she said, adjusting her glasses.

                “And I’m also gonna take a gander that y’all be needin’ someone sane to keep them fellas grounded while they’re workin’ too.”

                “That’s also correct.”

                “Then I guess I’m gonna take this job.”

                Miss Pauling’s shoulders instantly relaxed and she smiled warmly.

                “Wonderful. I’m two for two on the list of ‘no trouble’ for new hires,” she said, sounding relieved.

                “Y’all mean I’m not the first?”

                “No, but you’re second,” she said, standing and reaching for her briefcase.

                As soon as her hand touched the handle, an alarm went off, and she jumped a mile.

                “I’m sorry!” she shouted involuntarily.

                “Damn it all,” Dell said, jumping as well. “It ain’t your fault, doll! I’ll be right back. Y’all just stay put and I’ll be back in five minutes."

                Miss Pauling was shaking ever so slightly when Dell rushed out the door, the glass that read “Engineering” wavering just a bit under the force.

                The alarm had startled her; it usually went off at the most inopportune times of the day (and almost always on her day off) and today she hadn’t been expecting it.

                It hadn’t seemed to phase the young man a single bit, which relieved her. He wasn’t jumpy and wasn’t a quick draw like she’d anticipated him to be.

                Once she’d relaxed, she pulled the file out of her briefcase and made an adjustment on one of the lines.

                The alarm had stopped and Dell returned a few quick moments later, apologizing profusely for interrupting.

                Miss Pauling waved it off and smiled. She slid a paper-clipped stack of papers over to him and passed him a pen.

                Dell turned the papers to face him and removed a pen from his work belt.

                “Do you have any questions for me, Mr. Conagher?” Miss Pauling asked.

                He shook his head as he signed away.

                “No, miss. My dad didn’t tell much,” he said, “But he told me enough. I’m quick to learn, so I’m sure I’ll figure it out in no time.”

                “Well, I’m sure you will to. In this folder, you’ll find a bus ticket and a train ticket. Arrive twenty minutes before each departure time and I will meet you again at the train’s final stop.”

                “You’re not comin’ with me?” he asked, sliding the folder back to her. He slid the pen back into its loop on his belt.

                Miss Pauling shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I need to track someone down.”

                “Well then, Miss Pauling,” Dell said, taking her hand as she stood, “I look forward to meeting you again.”

                “As do I, Mr. Conagher. You’ve been a very pleasant conversationalist.”

                Dell smiled and showed her out of his office and led her down the hall to the exit of the building.


	3. Meet the Medic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling hires the Medic with a few hiccups (and lost organs) along the way.

Chapter 3 – Meet the Medic

                Miss Pauling should have expected her man to be here in this unnamed shit hole of a city. Where else would he have been living? He did the smart (yet cowardly) thing and fled south with all the others.

                It was hotter than the pits of hell in the city and more crowded than a bus of sinners on a Sunday. People hung from buildings shouting into the streets and children begged on corners.

                Miss Pauling kept her eyes forward as she marched towards her destination – a five story brick building near the slums of the town.

                “Hola, senorita!” a voice called to her.

                Miss Pauling looked down at the small child that called to her.

                A little girl, probably no older than three was sitting with a young infant, _her infant sibling_ , Miss Pauling thought, in her lap. She smiled and held up a little tin cup.

                Miss Pauling knelt down to eye level with the girl and dropped a few coins into the cup.

                “Gracias, senorita!” the child said, staring gratefully at the coins. When she looked up, the woman was gone, already far down the street.

                Miss Pauling kicked herself for the distraction as she neared her destination.

                It was a walk up to the third story, the sign on the elevator reading “Fuera de Servico.”

                When she got to the third floor, Miss Pauling was sweating bullets and her thin shirt was drenched in sweat. Her collar stuck uncomfortably to the back of her neck.

                “I hate Argentina,” she grumbled out loud.

                “Que?” asked a large woman in an orange housecoat.

                Miss Pauling ignored her and walked down the hall to the last door on the right. She also ignored the shouting and crying coming from behind various doors in the apartment building.

                She raised her fist and knocked on the door. She made it very official sounding, she thought.

                The door swung open as if it was pulled, but no one was there.

                Ignoring her instincts to run, Miss Pauling confidently walked inside.

                The door shut behind her, leaving her in total darkness.

                “Hello?” she called, trying to feel around for something.

                Her heart dropped to her stomach when she felt the cold barrel of a pistol press against the nape of her neck.

                “One move and I will blow your head off,” a deep voice threatened.

                Miss Pauling swallowed thickly and let out the breath she’d been holding.

                _A_ _trap_ , she thought with an internal sigh, _how fitting._

                She didn’t even cry out when a syringe full of ice cold liquid was plunged into her neck.

                The man behind her caught her before she could fall to the ground.

***

                Miss Pauling woke with a strangled gasp as someone tossed ice water over her. She coughed a few times, clearing her lungs.

                The room was still pitch black, but she could see a sliver of light a few feet in front of her.

                She made an attempt to stand, but found her arms were tied behind her and her legs were strapped to the legs of the chair she was sitting on.

                “ _Gut_ ,” a high-pitched male voice seemed to giggle, “You’re awake. I was beginning to think I’d killed you. I hadn’t planned on that.”

                An overhead light switched on and Miss Pauling groaned as it hit her eyes.

                “Dr. Hans Ludwig, I’m going to assume?” she grumbled, spitting as more water landed on her lips. The Administrator had warned her to stay on her toes, and she’d fallen for a classic blunder!

                The man in front of her narrowed his eyes.

                “How do you know? No one knows,” he hissed.

                “There are hundreds of you,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as best she could, “You are simply one person within that group. Easy to track and narrow down, _Dr. Viktor Hermann._ ”

                The man bared his teeth.

                Miss Pauling stiffened her back and straightened her shoulders. She wasn’t going to show she was afraid of him – because she wasn’t. He wanted answers and he wouldn’t kill her if he didn’t get them.

                “So you’re here to kill me then?” he asked, “Or take me to prison?”

                “Neither,” she said, making eye contact with him. “Completely the opposite, actually. I’m here to offer you a job.”

                “Is that so?” Hans asked, the high inflections in his voice sending a shiver down Miss Pauling’s spine.

                “Yes,” she said, not breaking away.

                The doctor leaned in and put his hand on the back of her chair. He tipped her backwards quite suddenly, causing her to yelp in surprise.

                He got uncomfortably close to her, the tips of their noses nearly touching. He smelled like peppermint and strong coffee and his hands were as cold as death.

                “What kind of job?”

                “Untie me first,” she demanded.

                “I will not.”

                “Then I’m not telling you.”

                He drew a knife from somewhere and pressed it against the pulse point on her neck, which then twitched against the blade.

                “Then I’ll just slit your throat. You were sent here by some one that much is obvious…”

                Miss Pauling just glowered at him.

                “Who was it?!” he demanded. “The Germans? The French? The Americans? Start speaking! I want names! Tell me, _Schlampe!_ ”

                He grabbed her by the front of her shirt and shook her, her head bouncing lightly on the floor a few times.

                “Untie me!” she demanded, raising her voice above his. “If I’m dead, you won’t be able to hide anymore!”

                The doctor suddenly pulled her back up so the four legs of the chair were firmly on the ground. He released the front of her blouse and chuckled.

                “I am sorry for the slight outburst,” he said, his behavior changing.

                Miss Pauling was still glaring at him, her hair now fallen out of its usual bun and hanging around her shoulders in a halo.

                “Untie me. Now.”

                “Just your hands,” he said, cutting the zip tie from her wrists.

                _Better than nothing_ , she thought, as she rubbed the raw skin.

                “Thank you,” she said, “Now hand me that briefcase.”

                “I will open it,” he said, “What is the code?”

                Miss Pauling sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling. A single white bird was perched on the light shade and let out a soft coo when it saw her looking.

                “2 9 3 7,” she said, watching him click the numbers into place. The lock opened with a pop and he smiled.

                “Top file,” she said, “And the pen.”

                The doctor brought both over to her and handed them to her.

                She snatched both from his hands and ignored his soft chuckle.

                “Dr. Ludwig,” she said, “I’m from a company that is looking for men with very specific skills. Judging by your history, I believe you could be a tremendous asset to our company. I also beli—HEY!”

                Hans had begun to drag her chair across the room, the loud scraping violent in her ears, deafening her voice as she attempted to speak.

                Miss Pauling continued to loudly protest the entire time she was being dragged across the floor, though there wasn’t a whole lot she could presently do about it.

                “Excuse me!” she shouted as he spun her chair around. She was now facing a large desk, littered with small artifacts, as well as a large birdcage.

                “Yes?” he asked as if nothing had happened.

                “Oh, forget it,” she snapped, quickly losing her temper. “I’m offering you a job where you will be a doctor for a group of men. You will have unlimited access to medical supplies and unlimited funds to use them and continue your practice.”

                “That is indeed tempting,” he said, bringing a finger to his chin.

                “All marks on your record, anything regarding your… colorful past will be expunged completely from your records.”

                That sweetened the pot even more.

                “In fact,” she said, knowing she was getting his attention, “You will have never existed. According to all legers and books, Hans Ludwig will never have been born. How does that sound?”

                Hans grinned wolfishly, his eyes twinkling with maniacal delight.

                “That sounds wonderful,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “How much does this too-good-to-be-true job pay?”

                “More than enough,” she said, “Free room and board, free space to practice. All supplies will be provided to you.”

                “Reinstatement of my medical license?”

                “Yes, yes, reinstatement of your… I’m sorry, _what?_ ”

“Aha, well, I _may_ have lost my medical license somewhere along the way.”

                “You mean you just lost your diploma somewhere, right? You didn’t actually…”

                Hans gave her a smile.

                “Are you kidding me?!” she shrieked. “You’re _joking_ me, right?”

                “Unfortunately, no.”

                Miss Pauling dragged a hand down her face and sighed audibly.

                _Where the hell did you send me, Helen? Where the hell did you dig this guy up from?_

                “Ordinarily, I’d say forget it,” she grumbled, “But you came highly recommended, so I’m waving that _slight_ bump.”

                “Thank you.”

                “Sign the papers and untie me. With your _real_ name! Not the fake one!”

                Hans took the pen and signed all the forms with a flourish. He handed them back and moved to unstrap her legs.

                Miss Pauling stood up on wobbly legs and replaced her things in her briefcase. She pulled out three tickets paper clipped together hand handed them to him, along with a passport.

                “Someone will meet you at the rendezvous point on the final ticket” she said pinching the bridge of her nose. She felt her breast pocket and then opened her briefcase. “Did you see my pen?”

                “Haven’t seen it,” Hans said with a small smile.

                “Must’ve just tossed it in, I’ll find it later,” she said, mostly to herself. “Lovely doing business with you. I’ll see you very soon, _Mr._ Ludwig.”

                “And you as well.”

                Miss Pauling went to open the door to leave when Hans stopped her.

                “Also,” he called, “I would suggest drinking plenty of fluids and not moving your abdomen in quick bursts. Have a nice day!” And he slammed the door in her face.

                Miss Pauling stopped briefly, her hand traveling to her stomach. She lifted her shirt and groaned at the line of thick stitches that decorated her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ah, yes, in America you call it the 'alt-right,' but in Germany we call it ''why grandpapa lives in Argentina now."


	4. Meet the Scout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling bails the Scout out of jail and offers him a job.

Chapter 4 – Meet the Scout

 

                A few days later, her side still twinging every now and again even with the painkillers, Miss Pauling arrived in Boston. She was only on American soil for a few days before she had to head out again, so she had to make every second of her time count. And she planned on it. This next one was promising, or at least that’s what his file labeled him as. As for herself, she’d have to meet him before forming an opinion on him. He seemed like a troublemaker, if her upfront opinion of him mattered. It didn’t.

                _Jeremy Giordani, 18, Caucasian male. Participated in gymnastics, track and field, baseball, and dancing in high school. Recently arrested on petty theft charges/fighting/public intoxication. Being held at Suffolk County Jail until bail is posted._

                Miss Pauling sighed heavily, the stitches in her side catching. She rubbed them slightly and glared at this… _kid’s_ file.

                _Arrested? Helen, you’re testing me here. For sure,_ she thought as she placed the file back in the briefcase and pushed open the door of the jail.

                She smiled sweetly to the guard at the front desk, presented a fake name and some forged papers, claiming she was a lawyer.

                “Ain’t yous a bit young to be a lawyer?” the guard asked, handing her papers back with a raised eyebrow.

                “Are you questioning me?” she asked, her voice cold and calculating.

                They held eye contact for several seconds. He expected her to look away first.

                “What do you want?”

                “I’m here to post bail for Jeremy Giordani.”

                “That lady over there will take care of you,” he said, gesturing with his baton.

                “Thank you,” she said cheerfully. She walked over to the woman at the desk and set her briefcase down.

                “Name?” she droned without looking up at Miss Pauling.

                “Oh, um,” she said, fumbling a bit, “Jeremy Giordani.”

                The woman looked up and sighed.

                “Don’t waste your money,” she said, “He’s in here almost twice a month.”

                “Not anymore he won’t.”

                “Alright then. That’ll be $175.”

                Miss Pauling paid the woman and went to wait outside.

                She only had to wait a few minutes before someone was shoved unceremoniously out the front door of the prison.

                “Yeah, yeah, thanks,” grumbled the person.

                “See you next month,” a cop shouted.

                The boy raised his middle finger as the door shut.

                “Jeremy,” Miss Pauling said.

                The young man spun on his heels until he was facing her.

                Miss Pauling could have laughed at his appearance if she wasn’t trying to get on his good side. Both of his eyes were ringed with deep bruises and his nose had obviously been broken. His lip was split and swollen, dried blood on his chin and cheek still.

                “Well hey there, toots,” he grinned, smoothing his hair back.

                Miss Pauling raised an eyebrow.

                “Hey, this ain’t too bad, yeah? You should see the other guy.”

                She was still silent.

                “Did, uh, you post my bail for me?”

                “Yes,” she said, watching his face light up.

                Jeremy chuckled. “Hey, thanks. Ain’t no one but my ma ever paid my bail before. Did she send you?”

                “No, Jeremy. I’m actually here for you.”

                He let out a low whistle. “No shit?”

                “Come walk with me,” she said, “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

                Jeremy followed her like a little puppy to the nearest diner.

                Once they’d arrived, Miss Pauling sat across from him in a secluded booth and ordered a single cup of coffee and a sandwich. After the food arrived and she watched him devour the food, did she begin to speak.

                “I heard a lot about you,” she said.

                “Yo, really?” he asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

                “Yes,” she said, “You’re a trouble maker and don’t follow the rules.”

                Jeremy looked down at his food. “Uh, yeah. Got in trouble for that.”

                “Explains why I had to bail you out of jail.”

                He chuckled a bit.  “The guy had it comin’, I’m tellin’ ya.”

                Miss Pauling sighed.

                “Jeremy, I would love to offer you a job,” she said, “But I need to know you’re willing and mature enough to accept it.”

                “Hey, anything for you, babe. Just name it.”

                “There’s a position available that allows your record to be wiped clean of all crimes, large or small. Think of it as a place to get all of your anger out with no real repercussions.”

                Jeremy dumped about five spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee as he pondered her statement.

                “Yeah, but… I got my ma, y’know? I can’t just leave her here. I provide for her…”

                “We will pay you handsomely. Your mother will never be without.”

                “What would I actually do at this job thing?”

                “Reconnaissance for a company and gathering information from rival companies.”

                “Re-what-aissance?”

                “You’ll be collecting tips and info about your rival company and trying to do whatever you can to take them out. It’s top secret, so I really can’t tell you much else.”

                “Dude, that sounds frickin’ awesome! I’d be like a spy!”

                Miss Pauling smiled. “Of sorts, yes. Think a hired gunman.”

                “Assassin?”

                “Close. Mercenary.”

                “Don’t know what that is, but I don’t care. Where do I sign?”

                _This kid’s really the best we could do? Jesus, we’re slipping here._

                “Hang on,” she said. “Don’t you want to hear the terms and conditions? Or, like, read the contract?”

                “Nah, I get the gist. Gimme the pen!”

                “Hold on, I can’t find it.” Miss Pauling dug through her case a few times before flagging down a waitress. “Ma’am, would you mind if I borrowed your pen?”

                The waitress smiled and took the pen from her hair and handed it over to her. “Here y’are, doll.”

                Miss Pauling thanked her hand turned back to the boy, who was bouncing in his seat.

                She walked him through the basic terms of his contract, showed him where to sign, and told him where to take the bus after she gave him his tickets.

                “Now, someone will be waiting on the platform for you,” she said, “You won’t be travelling alone once you finish your bus trip.”

                “Yeah, yeah, and the money? When’ll my ma get the money?”

                “We’ll send a down payment to your mother,” she promised, “And you can call her as much as you’d like when you arrive to your new job.”

                Jeremy smiled. “Sweet. When’re these tickets for?”

                “The date is for the ninth,” she said, “So you have a few days to collect your things and talk to your mother. Now, you cannot tell her what you’ll be doing. You will tell her that you are going to a correctional facility that will help keep you out of prison and resolve some of your anger issues.”

                “And that’s the cover for it?”

                “It is,” she said. “You will tell her nothing more, do you understand? If you do, we cannot guarantee her safety.”

                Jeremy paled a bit. “Y-yeah… uh, okay.”

                Miss Pauling smiled and ordered him another sandwich and a Coke.

                “I have to leave now, but I’ll see you soon.” She got up to leave and looked at him.

                “Yo, uh, lady,” Jeremy said, catching her wrist, “I didn’t get your name.”

                “It’s Miss Pauling,” she replied before gently pulling her arm away. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

                Jeremy smiled and watched her leave.

                “Wow… Miss Pauling…”


	5. Meet the Demoman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling travels to Europe to hire Demo. She's not one for drinking, but hey, it's in the job description.

Chapter Five – Meet the Demoman

“Aye, lassie, ye don’t belong in here!” a man shouted at Miss Pauling as she walked up to the long bar at the front of the tavern.  
Miss Pauling turned to the man and said nothing, but she smiled and continued on her way to the front.  
She leaned against the bar and gave a coy smile to the bartender. She ordered a glass of whiskey for herself and nodded at the gentleman who offered his seat to her.  
“Thank you,” she said, taking her seat.  
Ordinarily, she didn’t drink. She never drank; she hated the taste and the fuzzy feeling it left in her head the next day. Besides, her father had been a heavy drinker, and she’d seen the effect it had on her family. But, when the situation called for it, she would have one.  
Miss Pauling took a sip and scanned the bar. Her man wasn’t here yet… but he would be. Oh, he would be.  
She knew he’d be here soon; she’d had her eyes on this particular place for a while now, watching every day for the man she was targeting.  
The other patrons of the bar carried on around Miss Pauling as she nursed her drink. It wouldn’t be long now.  
As if on cue, the heavy bar door swung open and a few men cheered and hooted their greetings as another man entered the establishment.   
“Tavish!” the bartender called, waving him over. “How’re you today?”  
“Ach, I can’t complain, Morris,” the man called Tavish replied as he saddled up to the bar, “But since ye asked, same as yesterday and the day before that… And the day before that. And the day before that…”  
The bartender chuckled. “That’s what I thought. Care for a drink?”  
“Do ye even have to ask?” he smirked.  
Miss Pauling smiled and looked over at the man.  
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked, raising her glass to her lips.  
Tavish smiled at her.  
“Well, of course ye can, lassie,” he said with a sly smile.  
“Anything he likes,” Miss Pauling said, “And as much as he likes.”  
The bartender raised a brow. “Are ye sure about that, lass? Tavish here could keep a roof over my head singlehandedly for a year.”  
Tavish chuckled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. Don’t scare the lass, Morris.”  
Miss Pauling smiled and took a small drink. “Don’t worry about it. Give him anything he wants, alright?”  
Morris nodded and went to get Tavish’s usual drinks.  
“Now, lassie, ain’t ye an unusual spot in this dump?”  
“Oi!” Morris gave a warning bark, but then winked and smiled as he poured drinks.  
Miss Pauling smiled. “I’m just passing through,” she said, “I’m on vacation.”  
“Ye don’t say?” Tavish said with a smile. He nodded at the bartender and knocked back a mouthful of his drink.  
She nodded. “Yes, I’m here from West Virginia. I’m traveling across Europe.”  
“That’s something,” he smiled, “Are you enjoying it?”  
“So far,” she said, “And you’re a local?”  
Tavish nodded. “I am. Born and bred!”  
Miss Pauling smiled again. “Maybe you could show me around? I’m only here for a couple days. I need to see the big sites!”  
“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, “I think I can handle that.”  
She smiled.  
“I look forward to it!”  
Miss Pauling took a small drink and looked at him. “So, what do you do for a living?”  
“Aye, lass,” he sighed, “I ain’t worked ‘round here for about ten years.”  
“Oh? And why is that?”  
“Can’t drink on the job, ye see? Bosses don’t like that too much.”  
Miss Pauling chuckled. “Yeah, I understand that. So how do you manage to afford the drinks, if you don’t mind me asking?”  
“Not at all, miss! Ye see, me family used to live in that castle up on the hill in town. Still got a load of money from that!”  
“So your family was royal?”  
“Aye.”  
Miss Pauling smiled. Interesting.   
They sat in silence for a while. Miss Pauling nursed the same drink over the course of the afternoon while Tavish seemed to collect more and more glasses and bottles in front of him, yet never seemed phased by it. He also didn’t notice Miss Pauling nursing the same glass all day.  
Shortly before six, Miss Pauling stood up, stretching out her legs as she did so.  
“Ye leavin’, lass?” Demo asked, looking over his shoulder and raising a brow.  
“I just have to walk around for a bit,” she chuckled, “Gotta clear my head, you know?”  
Tavish nodded and went to take another drink. “Aye, will ye be coming back?”  
She shrugged. “I dunno, I might go to dinner.”  
“Well, why don’t ye just get it here? Morris’s wee lass makes a great stew!”  
Miss Pauling smiled and then nodded.  
Helen’s report can wait a few hours, she thought, I am kind of hungry and I would like to sit and talk instead of having those last two mercs-for-hire as my company.  
Tavish pounded his fist on the table. “Morris, give the girl a bowl of your wife’s stew!”  
“I’ll go sit at a table so I don’t take up room,” she called, picking up her briefcase.  
“I’ll join ye,” he said, ordering another drink for himself.  
Miss Pauling smiled to herself. Flirting works sometimes… if what I’ve been doing can even be considered flirting.  
She slid into the booth and set the briefcase down beside her.  
Tavish flopped into the seat across from her and sighed. He removed his hat and scratched his head.  
A petite woman with curly red hair and rosy cheeks brought out a large plate of stew and half a loaf a bread. She smiled warmly at Miss Pauling and set it on the table.  
“Thank ye, Lizzie,” Tavish said, offering her a slap on the rear.  
The woman yelped and turned and immediately slapped him across the face before chuckling and going back to the kitchen.  
Miss Pauling watched the interaction with raised brows.  
“Um…” she said, her hand frozen, midway to her spoon.  
Tavish let out a booming laugh, the noise reverberating in Miss Pauling’s chest.  
She smiled weakly and began to eat.  
When she was finished, Tavish was finally starting to relax and leaned back in his seat.  
“Tavish,” she said, leaning across the table. Time to get serious.  
“Aye,” he replied, taking a long drink.  
“I have a question for you.”  
“Aye.”  
“Would you like a job?”  
“Nay,” he chuckled against the lip of his bottle.  
“I’m being completely serious.”  
“Lass, I don’t need money,” he said.  
“Don’t you?” Miss Pauling raised a brow, and reached for her briefcase. “I have your files here and it looks to me like you’re in dire need of financial assistance.”  
Tavish slammed the bottle down on the table, causing Miss Pauling to jump and reach for the gun strapped to her thigh. She had pulled it halfway off before Tavish sighed heavily.  
“Lass, I dunnae how ye even know that, but you’re right. The money’s gone. All of it. Me family’s not had money for ten years!”  
Miss Pauling relaxed a bit and slid the gun back into its holster.  
“We ain’t livin’ in that castle for nearly fifteen years! It’s my fault, too! After I lost me job at the demolition company, the money disappeared faster than a wee virgin’s gown on her wedding night!”  
“Tavish! Tavish! Look at me,” Miss Pauling urged as the grown man across from her began to weep openly, earning several concerned looks from other bar goers.  
It took a few minutes, but eventually, the wailing stopped and Miss Pauling got Tavish’s full attention again.  
“I’m offering you a way out,” Miss Pauling whispered, “All the debt, all the shame… It’ll all go away. All you need to do is listen to me.”  
Tavish nodded and slid the bottle away, obviously still lucid enough to know how important this was.  
As Miss Pauling explained to him in great detail the terms and conditions of working at his new job, the bar filled and emptied with the evening flow.  
By midnight, Tavish had a pen in his hand and was signing the last of the papers.  
“Now, Tavish,” she said firmly, “I want you to meet me here tomorrow at noon, do you understand?”  
Tavish nodded, his eyes heavy and bloodshot.  
“Now go home and go get some sleep,” she said firmly.  
As if in a trance, the man got up from the table and turned and walked out of the bar.  
Satisfied, yet slightly guilty, Miss Pauling collected her things before approaching the bar and paying Morris.   
She knew she shouldn’t have taken advantage of a man that intoxicated, but when the situation called for it, she did what she had to do. Besides, she’d catch him tomorrow before he started drinking. If he didn’t want to do the job, she’d tear up the contract and start her search again. To hell with Helen.  
The next day, Miss Pauling was met by Tavish at the front door of the bar. He was wearing the biggest smile and hugged her tightly, which caught her off guard.  
“Oh! Um, hello,” she chuckled, smoothing her blouse down when he released her.  
“Mornin’, lassie!” Tavish said, “Ye said ye wanted to see me to, uh, go over our agreement from last night?”  
Miss Pauling smiled and nodded. So he had remembered. Perhaps he’s not as useless as Helen wrote down in his file.  
An hour or so later, Miss Pauling handed him a plane ticket, a bus ticket, and a train ticket and gave him the same instructions as she had with the others.  
“I’m eagerly looking forward to your arrival at the base,” she said, holding out her hand for him to shake, “And remember, you are to tell no one of what this job entails, are we clear?”  
Tavish nodded and smiled again. “Yes, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a while to get this chapter out. It's been a rough week mental-health wise for me. Expect other chapters sooner, hopefully! <3 Cheers!


	6. Meet the Sniper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling ventures out to the Australian outback to track down the reclusive Sniper.

                Miss Pauling trudged through the Australian brush, cursing the entire continent of Australia and every living creature on it under her breath. Her new target – a marksman by the name of Mundy, was proving more and more difficult to find as the days went on. Honestly at this point she was trying not to get bit by something that could kill her in twenty minutes or less. Which, to be fair, was half of Australia.

                The night grew darker and the insects became louder as she kicked and swore her way through the outback. Finally, off in the distance, she saw a small campfire and could have sobbed in relief. Hopefully this was her man – either that or it was someone who would be sympathetic enough to drive her back to the nearest village.

                She clicked on her flashlight and trudged down the small cliff, stumbling and tripping and swearing her way to flatter ground. As she neared the campfire, she heard someone humming softly. As she got closer, the humming stopped and a red light appeared in the center of her chest. _A gun. Great._

                “Don’t move,” a deep voice growled, training the gun on her, “Not another step. Hold still.”

                Miss Pauling froze, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. _Shit._

                There was a soft rattling behind her and then the loud _bang!_ of a rifle. Miss Pauling let out an undignified scream and clapped a hand over her mouth.

                “Rattler,” the voice growled sounding no-less threatening. “Bloody snakes.”

                The owner of the voice tipped his hat before turning away from her and back to the fire.

                Miss Pauling stood, still in a bit of shock from having the gun trained on her. And the snake. Mostly the snake.

                “You gonna sit or stand there?” the man asked after he got comfortable in his chair, “Because you’re makin’ me real nervous there, sheila.”

                “Oh, um…” Miss Pauling stammered, hesitantly approaching the small fire. She sat down on the ground, looking up when the man clicked his tongue.

                “Wouldn’t sit there, love,” he said, raising a coffee mug to his lips.

                Miss Pauling quickly changed places.

                “Or there.”

                She huffed loudly and stood up, frowning at the obvious smile in the man’s voice. He was way too amused at her apparent stupidity.

                “Here, take my seat,” he said, standing up and offering her his chair. She graciously accepted.

                “Coffee?” he offered after she was seated and comfortable, if not slightly humiliated.

                “Um… no,” she said, fixing her glasses.

                He clicked his tongue and poured some into the mug from a black thermos.

                “Got a name, sheila?” he asked.

                “Um…” Miss Pauling thought for a minute, not wanting to give her real name to a stranger she met in the middle of the Australian outback. She made one up on the fly.

                “Andrea,” she said, shifting in her seat, “And you?”

                “Name’s Mick,” he said, offering her a hand. “Mick Mundy. Unless you’re me mum, then in that case, it’s Michael.”

                Miss Pauling smiled to herself in the darkness at her sheer luck.

                “Well,” she said, “Mick, it’s nice to meet you… And, this is going to sound absolutely insane, but I’ve been looking for you.”

                “Aye?” he asked, raising a brow.

                Miss Pauling laughed, exhaustion finally catching up with her. “Yeah! Isn’t that crazy?”

                “Sure is,” he said, not sounding amused in the least.

                “Oh, it’s nothing bad, I promise,” she said, sensing his unease.

                “Sure sounds like it’s gonna be,” he grumbled, taking a long drink of his coffee.

                “I actually have a job for you,” she said, reaching into her jacket.

                Mick’s hand immediately went to the gun on his hip.

                Miss Pauling held up one hand, trying to stay on his good side. It wasn’t working.

                “Whatever you’re about to pull out of that jacket of yours, I suggest you put it back unless you want a bullet in your belly,” he growled.

                She swallowed thickly and removed her hand from her jacket and placed both hands atop her thighs and looking him dead in the eyes.

                “Now,” he said, keeping his hand on his gun, “Tell me who the bloody hell you are and how in the name of Christ’s brown arsehole you found me.”

                “Sheer luck?” she offered, raising a brow.

 “Nearly 9,500 square miles of outback and you managed to locate me? You really want me to believe that?”

“Actually, yes,” she said, not hiding the irritation in her voice, “I’ve been out here for three damn days trying to find you, you know.”

Mick’s mouth twitched up in the faintest hint of a smile. “And you haven’t been eaten alive yet.”

“I’ve had a lot of experience,” she said, frowning at him.

“Still don’t trust you, sheila,” he said, “An American with some obvious trainin’ and no pack in the middle of the outback sayin’ they’re lookin’ for me ain’t exactly on my list of things I should trust. Especially when they’re offerin’ me jobs right from the start.”

“Look,” she said, “I’m on kind of a tight schedule here, Mick.”

“That so?” he asked.

                Miss Pauling swallowed the lump that formed in her throat as she heard him click the safety off on his gun.

                “Yes, and, uh, I actually talked to your mother,” she said, not wanting to pull out her wildcard yet.

                “You talked to my mum,” he said, making it sound more like he was reaffirming her statement. “That right?”

                “I did,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, “Two days ago. She said I’d find you out here ‘shooting bilbies,’ whatever the hell a bilby is.”

                Mick’s frown deepened and he pulled the gun out from its holster on his hip.

                Knowing the situation was about to get drastically out of hand, Miss Pauling acted quickly.

“Mr. Mundy,” she said, keeping her voice steady, “I swear to you right now I mean you no harm or ill will. I represent a company that requires someone with your… impeccable marksmanship and elusive behavior. If you let me speak, I promise you I will make it worth your while.”

Mick glared at her, narrowing his eyes. He scrutinized her expression and body language before setting his gun down on his lap.

“Fine,” he said, leaning back on the rock he’d sat down on. “Better be worth it.”

Miss Pauling was honestly shocked at how smoothly that had gone. “Wait, really?” she asked.

He waved for her to continue with a casual wave.

“Oh, um, alright then,” she said, going into her jacket for her files.

“Easy, love,” he warned, “Goin’ too fast there.”

She nodded and slowly pulled the file out so he could get a good look at the folder.

Mick raised a brow but made no move to get up.

“You’re a skilled sniper,” she said, “I’ll give you that much. My company is incredibly impressed with your talents.”

Mick tipped his hat in a small gesture of appreciation.

“Do you recall a job you did out in Canberra about four years ago?” she asked as she opened the folder to sort through it. “You were hired out for your anonymity and excellent shot.”

Mick thought for a moment. “Big bloke? Mafia boss, wasn’t he?”

She nodded and smiled.

“You were recommended to us through that contractor.”

“That right?” he asked, taking a toothpick out from behind his ear and placing it in his mouth.

Miss Pauling nodded again and sifted through her papers.

“How’d you like to do that for a living?” she asked, glancing up at him.

Mick raised a brow at her.

“Shootin’ people for a living? Ain’t that illegal?” he asked.

“Depends on how you go about doing it. If you’re willing to hear what I’m offering you than please let me know.” Miss Pauling brushed away a mosquito buzzing near her ear and smiled.

Mick was contemplating her offer, his thick brows knitted together under the wide brim of his hat. He was silent for a few minutes, making unwavering eye contact with Miss Pauling, reading her expression before he nodded.

“Alright. I’ll give it a go.”

Miss Pauling beamed and launched into detail as she handed him a thick stack of paperwork.

Mick looked slightly amused at how excited she was, taking the papers with a large hand. He only held up a hand to stop her once.

“What about me parents?” he asked.

“What about them?”

“Well, you said this place was in the States, yeah? My parents are old, they depend on me to take care of ‘em. Help’m out on the farm, y’know? Me mum, she’d really miss me.”

Miss Pauling thought for a moment before scribbling down a note in her file. Mick couldn’t read it in the dark, even with the light from the fire.

“I’ll make some phone calls when I get back to the city. Daily phone calls are guaranteed, Mr. Mundy. We can also assign one of our workers to come and help your parents. You can even be the one to choose them, is that fair?”

Mick thought about it and nodded.

She smiled and handed him another stack of papers.

“Now,” she said after helping him sign the forms, “In one week, you’ll take a plane from Perth. From there, you’ll go to Sydney and then hop a plane to Honolulu. You’ll take another plane to Los Angeles, then a bus to Albuquerque. A man will meet you there to take you to your assigned base. Is that clear?”

Mick nodded. “Sounds easy enough. And I can transfer my money to my parents?”

“You can transfer as much as you’d like,” she said, “You can go home a few times a year as well. We try to be as gracious as possible in allowing our employees to visit family.”

“I guess there ain’t nothing better than that, right?” he asked with a smile as he chewed the toothpick between his teeth.

Miss Pauling shrugged and placed her files back into her folder. “I suppose not. Do you have any more questions for me?”

“None at the moment, sheila,” he said, standing back up. “Suppose I’ll see you soon?”

“Not too terribly soon,” she replied, “I have some more business to take care of before I’ll see you again.”

Mick nodded. “Alright. Anything I can do for you? I can give you a ride to town if you like. It’s kinda late, a young lady like yourself shouldn’t be wanderin’ the outback alone.”

“I’d actually love a ride,” she said, “If you wouldn’t mind.”

He chuckled and smiled. “Get in the van,” he said, nodding his head towards the beat up little camper just outside the glow of the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS GOD AWFUL I'M SO SORRY. Sniper is so fuckin' ooc I did not do him justice. I'll be posting Pyro next, which hopefully won't be too terrible. I'm so sorry I've not been keeping up lately.


	7. Meet the Pyro!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling hires "Asset 7."
> 
> TW for vaguely implied sexual assault of children. Like super vague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *'the bitch came back' starts playing over the loud speaker*
> 
> /throws glitter on my depression and walks away/

Avonhurst County Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Miss Pauling never thought she'd step foot through these doors in her entire life, yet here she was, heels clipping down the linoleum lined hallway like she owned the damn place. She shut out the screams and manic laughter as she was escorted by a nurse, keeping her eyes trained on the white cap in front of her.

Miss Pauling was lead through a set of heavy metal doors marked "Women's Ward" and down a short hallway off to the left. 

"She knows you're coming today," the nurse said, "She asked about you this morning. Said something about unicorns, I think." The nurse shook her head and took out a key from her apron pocket. 

Miss Pauling smiled and held her bag against her chest. "Thank you, Brigid. I'll ring the bell when I'm ready."

The nurse nodded, blonde curls bouncing, and opened the door for her. Once Miss Pauling was inside, she shut the door and locked it with a heavy click.

"Fran?" Miss Pauling called softly as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. No lights, of course. "Franny, are you awake?"

"Gertie?" a ragged reply came, uttering the fake name Miss Pauling had given the hospital several months ago. 

"I'm here, honey," she replied, "You feeling okay?"

There was a soft shuffle and then the soft smack of bare feet on cold linoleum. "I'm fine. Better than yesterday."

"Do you want to talk about yesterday?"

"No."

God, her voice was like sandpaper, gravelly and deep, textured like a rocky coast. It had startled Miss Pauling when she first started making these visits. It didn't frighten her so much now. Only when she screamed.

"Do you want to take a walk, Fran?" Miss Pauling asked. 

"Okay. I can show you my new friend!" Fran walked over to Miss Pauling and took her hand, running her rough, pitted hand over the other woman's smooth, soft skin. 

Miss Pauling rang the bell to signal the nurse to open the door, and stepped back so she could open it. 

The nurse stepped back and averted her gaze to the floor to avoid looking at Fran. 

Undeterred, Fran smiled and waved anyway before being led away by Miss Pauling. She greeted everyone as they walked down the hallway together, smiling brightly, the action making the scars on her face pull and shine. 

Once outside, Fran plopped down on the grass and beamed up at Miss Pauling, who could finally get a good look at her. 

Fran's skin was pink and mottled, one side pulled horrifically at the eye, making it appear droopy and useless. Her hair, blonde and shorn short, was just starting to grow back in. 

The first time Miss Pauling had seen it, she had to will herself to not throw up. That was months ago. She had been coming here for a while, slowly building up Fran's trust. Fran's apperance had slowly improved over that time as well. Slowly but surely, time healed everything. 

Understandable, since everyone thought she was a monster. 

Maybe she was. 

Is that really what I'm doing? Hiring monsters? Miss Pauling thought. Don't answer that. 

"So who's your new friend?" Miss Pauling asked.

"His name is Vic and he doesn't talk," Fran replied, "But I heard he hurt a bunch of people with a big knife and that's why he's here."

"Oh? Well, is he nice to you?"

"No, but he's not mean to me either. He did push me down the stairs and called me a monster when he came here though."

"I thought you said he didn't talk?"

"He doesn't anymore. They took out his talk box."

Miss Pauling paled. "They made it so he doesn't talk?"

She nodded. "Mhm! He's a lot nicer now."

Fran closed her eyes and smiled as the warm sun hit her ruined skin. 

"Franny, can I ask you a question?" Miss Pauling murmured after a few minutes of silence. 

Fran nodded. 

"They all told me you burned two men to death and caught yourself in the process... but they never told me why."

Fran chewed her chapped lips, pondering the question for a moment before replying. 

"They hurt a few girls from my school. Little girls. They were my friend's little sister and her two friends."

"So you set them on fire?"

"They deserved it!" she snapped. "No one was doing anything about it! And those... pigs talked so... casually about it! About little girls! And what they did! I couldn't stand it anymore! They dragged me away and locked me up here."

Miss Pauling was shocked. She sat there in the grass for a while in stunned silence. She never expected that, or anything other than a few childish one word answers from the poor girl in front of her. 

"Franny," she murmured, reaching for the smaller girl.

Fran crossed her arms.

"I'm not a bad person."

"No. No, you're not. You... maybe could have handled it a bit better, but you're not a bad person."

Fran scoffed. "Yeah, I could have handled it way better. A more concentrated explosion and controlled fire. Their car would have done nicely."

Miss Pauling sighed. "You shouldn't be in here. You stood up for those who couldn't defend themselves. You're not a monster."

"I wish everyone thought that way." Fran pulled her knees to her chest and watched a flock of birds fly by. 

"How would you like to get out of here?" Miss Pauling asked. 

Fran looked over at her and ran a hand through her short, uneven hair. "How?"

"I made a case to the head of the hospital. I can take you with me when I leave here today."

"You're lying," she said. 

Miss Pauling shook her head. "I'm not. I claimed you as my cousin on the forms."

Fran jumped up from the ground and hugged her before skipping around and shrieking with glee. 

She watched the young woman's glee and sat back against the tree trunk. She rustled through the papers and smiled. 

A few minutes later, Fran bounded back over and threw herself on the ground, breathless and giggly. 

"This is amazing!" Fran said once she'd caught her breath.

Miss Pauling chuckled. "I'm glad you're happy, Franny. Now, let's get you cleaned up and out of here."

The two stood and walked back into the hospital, a smooth hand clenched in a shiny, rough textured one. 

 

***

Several hours later, the pair was on board a train heading south for New Mexico. 

Fran had traded in her blue hospital gown for a red and white dotted dress and a rather large sun hat. 

Miss Pauling was busying herself with some paperwork and listening to the messages left on the recording device. Something about a future asset being moved to maximum security. A problem for another time. 

She looked up and frowned slightly, her glasses sliding down her thin nose. 

Fran was nervously shaking her leg and picking at her fingernails. She would occasionally glance out the window and sigh heavily. 

Miss Pauling dug into her bag and pulled out a thin silver case. She removed one cigarette and a lighter. She lit it, jerking her head in an inviting gesture when Fran's head snapped up at the acrid smell of burning nicotine. 

Almost immediately, Fran was sitting beside her, hands patiently placed in her lap.

Miss Pauling placed the cigarette between the other woman's chapped lips and immediately watched her calm down. 

Fran sighed and closed her eyes, letting a deep, shaky breath out around the cigarette. 

"No one is going to hurt you out here," Miss Pauling promised. "We're so far away from anyone who knows who you are. You're going to your new home, remember?"

Fran nodded. "New home. With friends?" 

Miss Pauling smiled. "That's right. And I still have to go get some more, remember?"

"You're leaving," Fran said flatly. 

"Just for a little bit. I'll be back soon."

Fran settled against the train seat and sniffed. "Promise?"

"I promise. Franny, will you sign this for me before we get off the train?"

The girl nodded and pressed her pen to the dotted line. 

 

***

 

Once they stepped off the platform, Miss Pauling handed Fran a dark red duffle bag. "Put this on, okay? You can keep the mask off until we get to where we're going.

Fran walked towards the bathroom with heavy, tired steps. She'd been awake for almost a full day; she was never able to be comfortable in small spaces. It didn't make for an easy time during her stay at the hospital. 

Miss Pauling pulled up the antenna on her phone and dialed a single number.

"Asset 7 received. No issues in collection or transportation. ETA to base, 6 hours."

_Hope you're happy now, Helen. This one just seems damaged, not deranged like you implied. Trust this one more than the doctor I dug up in Argentina._

Once Fran stepped out of the ladies room, Miss Pauling escorted her to an unassuming black car parked outside the station. 

From there, it took six more hours to drive to the hidden base in the middle of the desert. It was nearly three in the morning when they arrived, and Miss Pauling lightly (carefully) woke Fran. 

"Put the mask on now," she said. "Keep it on unless you're sure you're alone. Your identity is your biggest treasure here, okay?"

"Why?" Fran asked, gripping the black vinyl tightly in her gloved hands. 

"Think of it like... like a game! Right now, only two people on this base know who you are, okay? Me and the doctor that's waiting for you. Remember what I explained to you the one time I came to visit? About the bad men?"

"If the bad men in blue coats hurt me, I hit them with the big thing?"

"No, no. After that."

Fran thought for a minute. "The bad men can't see my face! If they see my face, I lose!"

"Exactly. So for now, only show your face to me and the nice doctor."

Fran smiled and picked up her bag. 

"I have to go now, okay? He's waiting for you must inside. Be good, Franny. Make new friends! I'll see you in a few weeks."

Fran was left in a cloud of red dust as Miss Pauling peeled out of the hidden driveway. She coughed before remembering the mask in her hands. Once it was fitted firmly and tightly buckled, she made her way inside the building labeled Reliable Excavation and Demolition. 

The doctor with the high voice and funny accent was waiting just inside the door for her to take her bag and escort her to his lab.

"Welcome home," he said, a wicked smile on his face.

"Mmph-mmm!" the masked creature mumbled in thanks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST OF ALL I'm so sorry for the long ass delay in chapters and even sorrier that this chapter is literal garbage. Since nothing is know about the little firebug, I had to basically create it from the ground up. It didn't come as smoothly as I wanted it to and I didn't do Pyro justice at all.


	8. Meet the Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling hires the Heavy Weapons Guy.

Miss Pauling shivered as she stood on the train platform. Despite her big coat and her winter gear, she still felt like she was about to freeze to death.

_My guy can't get here soon enough,_ she thought.

As if on cue, a long black car pulled up and the window rolled down, smoke pouring out of the crack like a chimney.

"Get in," a woman snapped. The window rolled up and Miss Pauling heard the lock disengaged. 

She got in and barely had time to shut the door before the car was speeding away from the station.

"Thora, what the hell is your problem?" hissed the woman on the other side of the seat.

"I'm sorry?" Miss Pauling stammered.

"Explain to me why Bidwell is keeping order on the RED base and you've been MIA the past three weeks!"

"I've been busy hiring your assets, Helen," Miss Pauling said, trying to keep a level head before she gouged out the old woman's eyes. "And I checked in with Bidwell two days ago and he said everything was fine! Training got off to a rough start, but he said the respawning system is perfect!"

"Don't you try to defend them, Thora. You don't have to do that."

"Don't act like you're surprised, Helen. You were the ones who recommended them all as potential hires."

"Potential. It was your call if any were deemed fit to work."

Miss Pauling scoffed. "If I remember correctly, your exact words were, "Get me all nine names on that list, or I will flay you alive and use your skin for my new dress shoes.""

Helen shrugged and lit another cigarette. 

"So you're on, what? Eight of nine?"

Miss Pauling nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"And we're, where, exactly?"

"75 miles south of Siberia."

Helen scoffed. "Ah, this one. I trust you brushed up on your Russian?"

"Yes, ma'am," she replied. 

"Good. He's been difficult to find. We can get you close, but you'll have to make it the rest of the way on your own."

"If he's anything like that ridiculous doctor you had me track down, I fear for my life."

"Nonsense, you were in no harm with him. Be reasonable."

"Well excuse me! He drugged me and dug around my insides!"

"Oh, shut up. You only need one kidney to live."

Thora scowled.

"Anyway, this isn't a normal hiring. He's already been briefed. You just have to go and have him physically sign the papers."

"And you can't do that yourself? You're already here."

"I'm not one for Russian hospitality," Helen said casually as she blew smoke out of her nose like some ancient beast. She stamped out her cigarette on the ashtray, her eye contact with Miss Pauling unwavering. 

The rest of the drive was silent. 

Miss Pauling was almost glad when the car left her stranded at the entrance to a village. 

And by entrance, there was a sign that said the name and a 5km sign pointing north.

She sighed and pulled her scarf up around her nose and trudged forward.

About halfway through her hike, a huge army van pulled up beside her. A bearded man poked his head out the window and shouted at her in Russian, demanding her name.

Thora sighed again and caught her breath before giving him the assigned fake name.

"I need a ride," she said, hoping her accent didn't slip.

The man stared her down before motioning for the man in the backseat to open the door.

A large gloved hand reached down and lifted Miss Pauling like she weighed nothing and pulled her into the car.

"Vlad and Sasha," the man in the front said, gesturing to the men beside her. "My name is Nikolai."

Miss Pauling nodded to them, knowing better than to say hello or be too friendly.

_Russian hospitality,_ she bitterly thought to herself.

The drive into the village was short, cold, and quiet.

The man in front, Vlad, nodded once to Miss Pauling when she jumped down out of the van.

He drove off without another word.

Miss Pauling moved her scarf away from her face and looked around at the village square they'd dropped her off in. She looked for the street name she'd been given before setting off in that direction.

She soon found herself in a relatively nice part of the village. Here, the houses were well maintained and much bigger than the apartments everywhere else.

_Helen, if you found someone actually worth hiring, I will eat my clipboard._

Miss Pauling straightened her hair and glasses before raising a gloved hand to knock on the door.

A few moments later, a tall, muscular girl answered the door.

"Yes?" she asked, picking at something between her teeth.

"I'm looking for Mikhail," Miss Pauling replied.

The girl scowled down at her and grabbed the front of her jacket. She yanked her inside and took her to the kitchen without a word.

"Zhanna!" a heavy-set older woman shouted from over a cooking pot. "What did I tell you about your manners!"

The girl smirked at Miss Pauling as she moved away to kiss the older woman on the cheek before stomping up the stairs.

"Terribly sorry, dear," the woman said with a chuckle, "She's cross with me. I didn't let her go hunting with her sister and brother today."

Miss Pauling smiled a bit and got up to introduce herself.

"No, no," the woman said, "Sit! I insist. Names come after soup."

Miss Pauling sat back down, mildly bewildered, as a bowl of soup was thrust in her direction.

"Thank you," she said quietly, pulling off her scarf and hat.

The woman came around to take her coat as well.

"Skinny thing," she clucked as she went to hang up her things by the fire.

Miss Pauling hadn't realized how hungry she was. She quickly ate two bowls of soup, not caring that it burned her mouth.

"Now," the woman said, handing Miss Pauling a thick cut of dense brown bread, "What is your name?"  
"Alina," she said, ripping off a chunk of bread, "I'm actually waiting for Mikhail."

The woman laughed loudly, her face turning red.

"You're looking for my son! Oh, wonderful! He said someone might be stopping by today! I am Katya, by the way."

"Do you know when he'll be back? I have some papers for him to sign a-and I really should be on my way after that."

"Oh, please! You have to stay for dinner! Hopefully my loves snagged a big one."

"A big one what?"

_Crash!_

Miss Pauling jumped a mile in her seat.

"That would be them," Katya laughed, forcing herself out of her seat. She went to open the back door.

Miss Pauling screamed and scrambled away as fast as she could.

A bear was standing on its hind legs - it was massive, taking up the entire door frame.

"Mama!" the bear said in a deep baritone voice.

Miss Pauling was halfway to the front door when she stopped.

"Ah! A big one!" she said joyfully. "Quick, take Zhanna and have her and Bronislava skin and prepare it for storage. Zhanna! Misha and the girls are back!"

The muscular girl from before bounded down the stairs and shoved past Miss Pauling before disappearing through the back door.

"My dear, are you alright?" Katya asked, looking back at Miss Pauling.

She laughed nervously and nodded, returning to the kitchen.

"Just, uh, wanted to clear the room in case you were bringing it in here," she responded, trying to hide the waver in her voice.

"No, no, please, come back in. Let Misha get washed up and I'll send you into the study to talk to him."

Miss Pauling nodded and stood in the kitchen while she watched the woman prepare vegetables.

A few silent moments later, Miss Pauling found herself standing before a white door, a cup of coffee in hand and the file under her arm. She knocked once.

"Come in!" the deep baritone voice from before called out.

Miss Pauling put on her best smile and pushed the door open. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the book-lined walls, her eyes wide in awe of how many there were.

"Oh!" said the biggest man she'd ever seen. "You are the one the woman on the phone tells me about!"

Miss Pauling was surprised. Not only did he speak near perfect English, but he was much more... eloquent than Helen had described him in the file.

"Y-yes," she said, cautiously approaching the desk. She handed him the coffee cup, which he could barely hold in his massive hand, and clutched the file to her chest.

"Mikhail, I ---"

He raised a hand to stop her and smiled. "Only my mother calls me Mikhail. Misha, please."

She smiled fondly. "Misha... Since you know who I am, I can cut right to the chase. My employer already explained everything to you, so all I need you to do is sign these papers and I'll be right on my way."

Misha laughed, the booming sound echoing in the room.

"Of course, of course! Whatever is needed, I do. But you must stay for supper. Mama makes the best bear meat."

Miss Pauling smiled. "Of course, Misha. I believe I already told your mother I would be happy to join you all for supper."

He held out his hand and took the files from her when she offered them. 

"I'm so glad Helen, er, my employer, already went through everything with you on the phone. I'm on a rather tight schedule and if there was any indiscretions with the contract, I wouldn't make my deadline."

Misha's harsh face flew into a smile as he pulled down a pair of thin-framed reading glasses. 

"Nonsense. Once she mentioned money, I immediately take job. Mama and my sisters will be very happy with the money."

"I'm glad you're so willing to take this," she replied, folding her hands in her lap. "Some of your future co-workers weren't so easy to convince."

That smile never left Misha's face as he signed the papers where instructed. 

As he signed, Miss Pauling glanced around the room at the books. One group of them caught her eye. 

"An Analytical Approach to Tolstoy?" she asked, looking over at him. 

Misha merely shrugged. "I've got several anthologies," he said softly. "There's one on Dostoyevsky in there somewhere as well."

"My employer never mentioned that you were so well read," she murmured sheepishly. 

He chuckled lightly. "I have PhD in Russian literature."

Miss Pauling's eyes widened. "No! That's incredible!"

"I realize I has no place on battlefield, but it keeps me occupied in spare time."

"Well, I think you'll be a wonderful addition to our team, Misha."

She held out a small hand, which he took, enveloping it in his own. 

"Now, you will take the train to Krasnoyarsk. You'll take two separate trains to Beijing, a flight to Tokyo and another flight to Honolulu. A final flight will take you to San Francisco, and a bus will take you to the stop in New Mexico where your ride will be waiting for you. He'll approach you and together you'll go to the base."

Misha nodded and looked over the tickets. "Sounds simple enough. You are not escorting me?"

She shook her head. "No, I actually have to be in France by Thursday, so I'm already short on time."

"I see. Are others on base?"

"Yes, there are already a fair number of people there working on training. Your arrival is greatly anticipated."

Misha grinned. "Wonderful! And I believe my sisters are nearly done with bear. Shall we go help mama?"

"Oh, um, of course!"

Miss Pauling found herself in the kitchen with the large woman yet again, this time, she was put to work setting the table.

"Five settings," she said, handing her a heavy set of dishes.

Two hours later, Miss Pauling was squeezed between two of Misha's sisters, who introduced themselves as Yara and Bronislava. The two of them were much less intense than Zhanna, and Miss Pauling was grateful for that.

Miss Pauling was there for Misha's explanation of his going away, and for once, she truly realized how intense this line of work was. Some of these people had families, friends... people they cared about. She'd never had anyone since she was a teenager. Her dad was an alcoholic and drank himself into an early grave. Her mom had walked out years before that and she never had siblings. So it wasn't really necessary for her to have loved ones or anyone close. But these people... were leaving their entire life behind to come work for this mysterious company. Without their family.

_God knows Helen was never the mother figure I never had. Or wanted._

She hadn't realize she zoned out until Zhanna was prodding her with her spoon.

"Eat," she said, "You'll do no good in a fight. You're too small."

She smiled and picked up her spoon and began to eat.

Later that evening, a black car pulled up to the front of the house and Miss Pauling hugged Katya and thanked her. She said goodbye to the girls and shook hands with Misha again.

"I will see you soon," she promised him before stepping outside.

Before she got into the car, she turned around and waved at the little family once more before getting in.

She reread his files on the way to the train station, making the occasional correction here and there.

She'd remember that family for ever. No one had treated her with such kindness in a long time, and she suspected that Misha's warmth and compassion would carry over to his future teammates.

Maybe she'd find a family after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect the feels to come in at the end. 
> 
> Added in what organs were taken, since some of you were concerned.
> 
> The names of Heavy's sisters are taken from the comics; mother's name made up. Miss Pauling's backstory also made up by me.


	9. Meet the Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pauling hires the Spy.

_Just a few more days, Thora. Then you'll be done with this whole debacle._

It had taken longer than expected to get to Paris, and a few days on top of that to get the proper clearances she needed. If her asset hasn't gotten himself tossed in maximum security, she'd be back in the states by now, drinking coffee with those nice ladies from book club. 

But no, she had to fetch him out of jail. 

She sat on a bench in front of the prison, going over her last minute changes in the file. It was nearly noon, only a few minutes now. 

She sighed and yawned widely and scratched at her nose and went to drop her things into her briefcase when her hand felt wet. Miss Pauling groaned. Her pen had burst in her hand and here she was without a handkerchief or anything. 

Frustrated, she tossed everything in and wiped her hand on her skirt. It was dark, maybe no one would notice. 

Miss Pauling bustled up the stairs and smiled warmly at the guard at the front gate. 

He gave her a friendly nod and let her inside. 

She gave the fake name to the other guards who nodded solemnly and led her back to a heavy metal door. She was passed off to different guards and taken down a winding path to a door labeled "Isolement Celluaire."

On her left was an interrogation room. She stepped inside and smiled at the guard.

_Now, to get Mr. Handlebar Mustache out of here..._

"I'll be alright by myself, sir," she said.

"You sure?"

"Yes. I can handle anything he throws at me."

The guard raised a thin brow and gave her a worried look.

"He's my father, sir, he wouldn't do a thing to hurt me."

The guard looked at her and then at the man sitting behind her.

"You have ten minutes," he grumbled, "I'll be standing right outside."

Miss Pauling gushed and thanked him profusely before shutting the door.

Once they were alone, she turned and faced the man at the table.

He was watching her with a sly, almost amused thin-lipped smile. One long finger was resting casually against his temple, his head tilted slightly as he watched her.

"You know," he said with a soft voice, "I don't see a resemblance."

Miss Pauling scowled and moved the chair out, wincing at the grating metal against concrete.

"You've got yourself into quite a situation," she said, not playing along in the slightest.

"Indeed I have."

The man leaned back in his seat, and pressed his fingers together. The long chain of the handcuffs rattled and settled in his lap. His sharp features appeared much more severe in the lighting. His skin was tan and his hair was black and slicked back, a touch of gray playing at the temples. He hadn't been permitted to shave in the past few weeks, and his beard was salt and pepper and unkempt.

_He could even be handsome if he shaved. And the eyes... I've seen those eyes before._

Miss Pauling shook the thought and crossed her arms.

"I've got ten minutes with you," she said, "And I have to make those count."

The man motioned for her to continue.

"I'm Catherine Davenport. Your name is Marcel St. Marie, yes?"

The man nodded once.

"You're from Beaune, France, and your parents were Maria and Bernard St. Marie."

"You've done your research," he said, the corner of his lip turning up. "What else can you tell me about myself?"

"How about I tell you why you're in prison?"

He blew air out of his nose and smiled a bit wider. "We've only got ten minutes."

Miss Pauling frowned a bit.

"Marcel, one of the reasons you're in here is for an extended career in espionage, including grand larceny, multiple homicides, and... identity theft."

"So that's the charge they decided to go with."

"That's where it gets tricky, Marcel. See, it says here you assume the likeness of someone and go about their business as if it were your own and no one can tell the difference."

"So what is it that you want?"

"I have an offer for you."

Marcel tutted, his voice low and grating along her spine. "Oh, no, no, no. You were doing just fine."

Miss Pauling opened her mouth to interject but was cut off.

"I don't appreciate the ham-handed segway into your offer."

Miss Pauling stared him down, and he stared back, unblinking.

Their stand-off was interrupted by the guard knocking on the window. He held up five fingers.

"I don't have a lot of time here, Marcel," she said quickly, "This is a once in a lifetime offer."

"I'm listening."

"You will live the life you knew before prison. All the rewards and none of the consequences. You would be stupid to pass it up. And I don't peg you as a stupid man, Monsieur St. Marie."

Marcel glared at her, though his light brown eyes didn't seem as hash as they did earlier.

"If you're interested," she said, pushing the chair away from the table, "Meet me at  _Le Petite Lapin_  on Wednesday at 3:00 _."_

Marcel lifted his hands, which were still cuffed to the table. His expression never once changed. He seemed almost bored.

"And how, exactly, do you propose I do that?"

Miss Pauling turned, her hand raised and ready to knock to let the guard know she was finished.

"If you truly are who we're looking for," she said, "You'll find a way. See you soon."

And then she was gone.

 

***

Tuesday night, 11:55 PM

 

The day before he was to meet Miss Pauling, Marcel didn't eat. He refused to go outside for his allotted yard time. 

When asked, he claimed to feel ill, and insisted he would be fine.

_This better work._

Marcel raised his right hand and weakly knocked on the door of his cell.

"Please," he groaned, "I think I'm having a heart attack."

Footsteps were heard before the slot on the door flipped open.

"Hang on," the guard on the other side said, "Stand back. I'm coming in!"

Marcel moved back and lay on the floor, still gripping his chest.

"Please hurry," he gasped, laying on the cold stone.

The guard shoved the heavy door open and ran to his side. He leaned down and pressed his hand to Marcel's neck for a pulse.

In the next second, the guard was flat on his back, completely in shock, his head pounding and his ears ringing. 

Marcel straddled the man's torso and wrapped his hands around the guard's neck. He squeezed his throat until his lips turned blue and then wrenched his head to the side until there was a sickening crack for good measure.

He looked up as he heard frantic footsteps approaching. He'd planned on killing the guard before he could make a sound, but hadn't finished him off in time. Getting rusty.

Marcel slid against the wall and pressed a button on his watch. The sound of the door swinging open disguised the whooshing sound of his cloak and he managed to get behind the other guards as they rushed in, guns raised.

"Stop!" they yelled in unison.

"Oh, damn!" one guard exclaimed, "Shit, where the fuck is he?"

"Goddammit," the other one yelled, "He could be anywhere!"

"Couldn't have gone far," the first one said, "We'd have heard him."

Marcel crouched behind them and deftly removed the combat knife from one of their boots. He stood and chuckled softly.

"Fuck, did you hear that?"

"The hell was that?"

"Gentlemen," Marcel hummed, driving the knife into each of their spines. He grinned wickedly as the gruesome cracking noise filled his ears.

They were dead before they hit the ground.

"My apologies," he murmured, wiping the knife off on one of their jackets.

Marcel was quick to alter his appearance to one of the guards and ducked out of the cell and quickly made his way down the hallway to the main hallway.

He slipped out a side door and was three blocks down the street when the alarms and lights went up in the prison, alerting everyone to his escape.

He ducked into an alley as several police cars screeched by him, sirens blaring.

Marcel smirked and walked into the darkness, a free man.

 

***

Wednesday, 8:45 PM

 

_"_ Marcel was a no-show! How the hell am I going to explain that to Helen! God, she's gonna have my hide!"

"Look, I'm already looking for a new guy. Just... I dunno, tell Helen he was dead or something."

"Bidwell, I really appreciate that, but she's never going to buy it."

Miss Pauling was fumbling with her room keys as she exited the elevator and made her way down the hall.

She pressed her phone between her shoulder and ear and pushed the key into the lock and shoved her door open.

"So what's the plan? Going down to see some Parisian night life?" Mr. Bidwell asked her.

I think I'm gonna order room service and take a nice bath," she sighed, "I'm so ready to go home."

"Boo, you're no fun!"

She opened her mouth to reply but stopped in the doorway and immediately put her hand on her thigh where she kept her gun.

_The window is open._

_"_ I'm gonna call you back, bud, okay? See you stateside."

She hung up the phone and lightly slapped at the wall as she shut the door, trying to find the light switch.

A small orange circle in the middle of the dark room caught her eye.

"Do you have anything better than this sewage they're calling wine?" a deep voice called to her.

Miss Pauling flicked on the light and lowered her weapon.

"Marcel!" she hissed. "I almost shot you."

"If someone really wanted you dead, you wouldn't have even gotten the chance to remove your gun from your thigh."

She sighed and let her shoulders sag as she cautiously approached him.

He was clean shaven now and his hair was washed and she could smell his cologne from here. He was even wearing a well-tailored gray suit.

_Where the hell did he get a tailored suit?_

"The whole city is looking for you," she said, staying a good distance from him.

"They're not doing a very good job then, are they?"

Miss Pauling huffed a laugh and shook her head.

"Now I get to smuggle a fugitive out of France."

"I'm sure it isn't the first time."

She ran a hand through her hair.

"That wasn't what I meant when I said 'find a way.'"

"You never said not to. I assumed it was an open invitation."

Miss Pauling fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"I've taken it upon myself to room service," he said, flicking ash off of his trousers.

"How courteous of you," she replied dryly.

"Why don't you open that briefcase  _Thora_ , and we'll talk business."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POINTS IF YOU GET MY REFERENCE.
> 
> One more chapter after this, just to wrap things up.


End file.
